


In Which Hints are Made

by the_nokken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a tease, Embarrassment, Finally!!!, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Other, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex, Soft Kisses, Telephone, anathema is a matchmaker, as in the game telephone, crowley "can do weird things with his tongue", newton is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nokken/pseuds/the_nokken
Summary: A game night, involving the classic game of telephone, quickly devolves into something not quite as innocent. Anathema tries her hand at matchmaking and does indeed succeed.





	1. Game Night Goes Awry

“I’m not saying that!” Newton cried, cringing away from Anathema. “That’s not decent! And he is still an angel after all.” 

“Come on, don’t be a coward.” Anathema rolled her eyes, gesturing at Aziraphale with a glass of wine that sloshed  _ almost  _ over the edge of the glass onto the soft, pale blue couch, it was practically a miracle that it didn’t stain the cushions burgundy. 

“Yes! I am quite invigorated to be a player in this, what is the name of this game again? Gramophone?” Aziraphale was tipsy, cheeks and nose flushed a pleasant rosy pink. 

“No, angel…” Crowley shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Telephone, y’know-” he mimed picking up a telephone and placing it to his ear. 

“Oh! Right!” Aziraphale beamed, turning to Newton. “Please get on with it then.” 

Newton wasn’t blushing. His face wasn’t flushed. He wasn’t pink. His face was beet red. Tomato red. Fire engine red. So red that he would have made the almighty say, “Goodness, now that is an entirely new shade of red I have not seen nor created. I’m honestly quite impressed, Newton”. 

“Anathema…” 

“Newton, we discussed this. Play the game.” Anathema gave him a pointed look over the rims of her glasses and shoved him gently. With the look of a man confessing his pornographic proclivities to his grandmother, Newton leaned towards Aziraphale. His hand cupped around the angel’s ear as he whispered, his face somehow growing brighter as he spoke. 

Crowley looked bored. He was good at looking bored, especially when sprawled on a rug holding a wine glass in one hand boredly. He had taken credit for inventing boredom, how else do you think he fell? And on Crowley, all long limbs and crisply fashionable clothes, he wore boredom like he wore most things; wholly, utterly, and completely  _ effortlessly. _ But he was really quite curious, what on earth had the girl said to make that weedy looking boy look so, distressed? Slightly turned on too, if Crowley was being quite honest. 

“Oh, oh my.” Aziraphale sat back, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in the practiced delicacy of a refined nobleperson. He took a large swallow of wine and sighed, then leaned down to whisper into Crowley’s ear. 

Now, as one would expect, demons are no stranger to lustful thoughts. Lustful, erotic, scandalous thoughts to demon are what squirrels are to dogs, fun, entertaining, and delightful each time they are encountered no matter how many times that may be. Crowley had done his fair share of tempting (only between consenting adult parties of course, even demons have standards), he had planted filthy thoughts into the minds of people from all walks of life. But what Aziraphale said to him nearly knocked him over. He choked on his wine nevertheless, then made a rather large show of looking at his watch (high tech, sleek, black, ridiculously expensive, it worked underwater, under pressure, in a vacuum, and at temperatures up to 900० farenheit). 

“Gosh, it sure is getting late, don’t you think, angel?” Crowley stood quickly, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. 

“I suppose it is.” Aziraphale stood up as well, he coughed delicately, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt and smiling bemusedly. “Newton, Anathema, shall I show you to the front door?” He gave a little half bow, flourishing his hand as he did so.

“Lovely, thank you.” Anathema grinned, pulling a still startled Newton to his feet and following Aziraphale to the door through the labyrinthine bookshop. 

“Well, goodnight!” Aziraphale said, awkwardly shutting the door behind them rather quickly. 

“What did you do?” Newton stared at Anathema with his mouth agape. 

“Those two have been driving me mad, they need to shag just to get it out of their system at least. They’re practically married but neither one will admit it. They just needed a bit of a push is all.” Anathema twined her arm with Newton’s leading him towards Dick Turpine. “Honestly, Newton, you’re adorable when you blush.” 

Newton blushed, allowing himself to be pushed into the car as he stammered and grasped for a response that was quite clearly out of his reach.

Crowley swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling exceedingly dry, throwing himself onto the couch in a tangle of arms and legs. His body feeling suddenly sober. He felt hot, granted he always felt hot, but this was different. He hadn’t felt this since, since- well, fuck if he knew. Centuries at least. After a few millenia into The Arrangement, he felt strange sleeping around, like he was doing something wrong. But now… 

“Crowley?” The angel was standing in the doorway that lead into the cozy back parlor of the bookshop. He had no right to look so fucking stunning right now, he was wearing a white button down with cream colored trousers and a bowtie, but he was gorgeous with his wide blue eyes and untameable hair. Crowley’s jeans were beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

“Angel.” His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “C’mere.” He was half sitting on the couch, propped up on his elbows. Aziraphale obliged, starting to take a seat before Crowley grabbed his elbow and pulled the angel on top of him. 

“Crowley,” his voice was softer now. “Can I, would it be alright if, could I possibly kiss you?” 

In response, Crowley reached upward sliding one hand to rest at the back of Aziraphale’s neck. He nodded, words caught in his throat like so many fishbones. 

And they did. And it was wonderful. Crowley had thought and postered and mentally debated for centuries as to what it would feel like to kiss the Angel. What he would taste like. Aziraphale was wine and honey and softness, he wasn’t shy. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing as he shifted on Crowley’s lap, delicious friction and warmth and pressure nearly making the demon’s head spin. 

“Angel, if, if you do that-” Crowley was panting, his breathing heavy. 

“Do what, my dear?” Aziraphale had his arms wrapped around Crowley’s neck, he shifted again so he was indeed straddling the demon’s lap on the sofa. And he was- fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard. 

“Aziraphale, is this too fast?” Crowley stuck out his tongue, a nervous tic of his. 

“Not for me, no. How about you?” 

“No, this is good. Do you want to, I dunno, go upstairs?” Crowley nodded at the ceiling, smiling that half smile, wicked and sly. 

“No.” 

“Oh, alright that’s fine, yeah, if you want we can-”

“I think I’ll have you right here.” Aziraphale murmured, kissing Crowley’s collarbone. 

“You… what?” Crowley’s mind was veritably short circuiting at that moment, if someone had asked him any question, whether it were his name, or what kind of car he owned, that answer would have inevitably escaped him. 

“I said, darling, I think I’ll have you right here.” Aziraphale continued to plant soft kisses along Crowley’s neck and the parts of his chest not covered by his shirt, ‘rubbish things they are, shirts’ Crowley thought to himself. 

“Yep.” Crowley breathed, and now the Angel’s hands were under the aforementioned rubbish shirt, warm and soft on his stomach. 

“Take that off, dear.” 

“RIght-o.” Crowley flailed about slightly, thanking just about every deity he could name that he hadn’t worn a button down, he finally pulled off the shirt, tossing it aside. And then Aziraphale’s soft (and well manicured) hands were on his bare chest, and his lips were pressed against his own, Crowley held tightly onto the Angel’s hips, hardly believing this was real. And then there was a hand fiddling with the waistband of jeans, and then his zipper, and -  _ oh fuck.  _

Crowley gasped, rather a bit louder than he would care to admit (demons didn’t gasp, it wasn’t seemly to go around acting surprised, bored was much more acceptable), and tightened his grasp on Aziraphale. 

“Is that good?” The Angel whispered, mouth close to Crowley’s ear and his voice sending chills down the demon’s spine. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” Aziraphale stopped moving, Crowley bucked his hips, whining a little under his breath. 

“Yes, Angel. Please, please don’t stop.” Aziraphale’s mouth was on his neck again, and his hand was doing unspeakable and wonderful and sinful and  _ wonderful _ things. “Please, Angel, yes!” 

Crowley’s eyes closed and his back arched, pleasant shudders wracked his body as his orgasm washed over him. When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was delicately licking his hand, fingers in his mouth and his eyes closed in the kind of pleasure Crowley was used to seeing caused by sushi. Crowley’s mouth fell open, he was half dazed and watching his Angel like this was mesmerizing, he really was stunning. 

“Angel, do you want me to-”

“Hm,” Aziraphale pulled a finger out of his mouth with a small sucking sound. “No, my dear, not yet. We have all night, all morning after that, really we have all the time in the world.” He pressed another kiss on Crowley’s mouth, lips still so soft, so warm. Kissing Aziraphale was what home felt like, safe and comforting, Crowley wanted no more than to stay like this indefinitely. 

“Upstairs? My legs are cramping.” Crowley muttered, their foreheads pressed together, each one of them breathing hard. Aziraphale nodded, standing up and carefully holding out a hand to help Crowley up. “Angel, I have to ask, where did you learn all that?”

“Right, I never did tell you about those years I spent at Portland Place now, did I? My dear, you haven’t even seen my Gavotte yet.”

“Your what now? Where?” 

“In due time, darling.”

In a small cottage, some ways away, Anathema smiled to herself as she enjoyed a late night cup of tea. The stars were covered by a gray, cloudy nighttime sky, but the faint rays of the moon peeped through every so often. Some things you didn’t need prophecies or magic for. Some things only required a small push to get things properly started. A good hint can go as far, if not farther, than a set in stone fortune. 

  
  



	2. Pondering the Results

Anathema rolled over in bed, trying in vain to block out the all too bright sunlight streaming through the window. Down the hallway, she could hear the faint sounds of Newton doing something in the kitchen. Something Anathema very much hoped involved tea. Or coffee. Something hot with caffeine. 

Groggy and still at least half asleep, she slumped out of bed, pulling on a robe over her pajamas and stumbling down the hallway towards the kitchen, Newton was standing over the sputtering and whirring electric coffee pot he had bought on a whim. It (the coffee pot) looked positively terrified, if it is all possible for a coffee pot with 18 different functions, a light up display, and a cheerful voice that was currently speaking what sounded like either Latin, Polish, or a dreadful combination of the two, to look terrified. This one was currently fearing for its life.

“Morning,” Newton smiled cheerily, pressing buttons and flipping switches in a way that only seemed to make the coffee maker all the more agitated. “Coffee will be done in a minute I think.” With that phrase the machine promptly lit up with the words ‘Ratnunku’ before sparking and promptly ejecting a puff of smoke. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Anathema yawned, shaking her head. 

“Er, thanks.” Newton stood looking not so much disappointed as he did resigned, this was the tenth coffee maker to stop working and he had yet to figure out why. Well, he knew why, but surely an electric coffee maker wouldn’t behave like a computer, now would it? (Yes, essentially everything is computers now, even the coffee makers). 

“How do you think the night went?”

“Dunno, I hope your plan worked. Was my acting alright?” Newton leaned against the counter and smiled, Anathema quite liked his smile, it was a little too big and a little too bright but it was exactly the kind of imperfect, lopsided, charm that he radiated. 

“Mmm, positively lovely.” Anathema walked over and put a hand on his chest, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, then leaning around him to grab two mugs from the cupboard. “And your acting had nothing to do with the fact that I gave you no warning?” 

“Well, now, I-” Newton sputtered. “I still did a very good job. I can't believe you made me say those things, I'm never going to be able to look either one of them in the eyes again." 

“You'll manage, love.” Anathema poured hot water over two tea bags and smiled to herself. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a short chapter, but I'm hoping to have the third chapter up later this week (depending on my class workload, that is)! Thank you to everyone for the love and support!


	3. Twisted Bedsheets

Aziraphale rarely slept, he didn’t need to after all. In the 6000 years he had been on earth, he had slept exactly ten times in all. This night was no exception. Crowley was curled up on the bed next to him, one arm curved around the angel’s waist in a half embrace, Crowley’s face buried in his side. And it felt right. Aziraphale felt nothing but love. 

It was silly, he thought, that is had taken them so long to finally get past whatever was stopping them from actually being together. Fear, perhaps? Regardless, that didn’t matter now. But he was happy to be here, laying in bed for once, in the half embrace of the demon he had been dancing around for years and years. And so he lay, and watched Crowley breathe, in and out, in and out. Slow, gentle. His face was softer in sleep, eyes closed (no sunglasses), no smirking, no put on cool looks, just him. Aziraphale leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. 

“Ngk?” Crowley opened his eyes, blinking slowly in the dimness of the room “Angel? Whatsa matter?” 

“Nothing, dear, go back to sleep.” 

“Mmmm,” Crowley muttered, rolling onto his side, face to face with the angel and smiling wickedly. “I’m awake now, though.” 

“And?” Their noses were practically touching, Aziraphale’s voice was breathy and light. 

“I don’t feel tired.” Crowley, quick as a-(well, as a snake, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think)- quick as anything, was on top of Aziraphale, kissing him, pressing his lips against the angel’s jaw, and neck, soft and warm, and oh so hot. 

“Ah, oh my, Crowley.” Aziraphale moaned breathlessly, biting his lip. 

“What do you want, Angel?” Crowley purred, dragging a hand across Aziraphale’s chest in a way that caused a shiver to run through him. 

“I want you.” Breathless, almost stuttering. 

“Want me to do what?” Crowley said, flicking his tongue out to tease at a delicate spot where the angel’s neck met his collarbone. Aziraphale was clutching at the sheets, trying hard to keep his composure. 

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale swallowed, turning his head away to shield his face. “I want you to-” 

“Look at me, Angel.” Crowley, with gentle fingers grasped his chin and turned his head so that their eyes locked together. “I want to see your eyes.” 

“Fornicate?” Aziraphale blushed a soft pink. 

“Angel!” Crowley said, cackling. “ _ Fornicate _ ?” 

“Oh, you wiley old serpent!” Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, turning away from the demon. 

“Awe, don’t be like that, all you have to do is tell me what you want, love.” Crowley whispered, laying his head on the angel’s chest. 

“I, I think I want to lay with you.” Aziraphale rolled onto his side, moving Crowley gently so they were side by side, facing each other.

“Angel, all you have to do is ask, when you want, what you want.” 

“I know, my dear. Hold me?” Aziraphale shuffled over until he was pressed against Crowley’s side, burying his face in the silk pajama shirt the demon wore, he smelled like cloves and something darker, delicious. 

“Of course, Angel.” Crowley pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I promise I will keep updating!! I've been outlining and planning and plotting away, so forgive me for these two short chapters, I just finished midterms and I'm coming up on a decent break from class so I'll be typing away!


	4. The Walk Of Shame (but not for the reasons you think)

“Breakfast, dear?” Aziraphale was already cracking eggs into a large glass bowl in the kitchen when Crowley meandered downstairs with bleary eyes and hair standing in all manner of directions. Aziraphale was dressed in his usual outfit, three piece suit and all.  _ Typical _ , Crowley thought. 

“Coffee.” Crowley mumbled, picking up the empty kettle and pouring a perfectly crafted, steaming, and foamy latte into a coffee cup that hadn’t been in his hand a moment before. “That’s much better.” Crowley didn’t need coffee, he didn’t even actually feel tired, but he did love the pageantry of mornings. 

“Soft scrambled eggs and tomato toast?” Aziraphale carefully picked a sprig of thyme from the small pot he kept on the windowsill (the one that miraculously never wilted and always seemed to have the exact herb he was looking for). 

“Whatever you’d like.” Crowley waved in his direction, his appearance becoming much more put together with each sip of coffee. 

“Mmm.” The angel hummed in response, plopping a sizeable pat of butter into the pan and carefully pouring in the eggs. “I like you.” 

“I bloody well hope so after 6000 years.” Crowley griped, but not in an entirely mean way, he was only keeping up appearances. He didn’t care much for food, there were things he enjoyed (coffee, caviar, anything that looked expensive and delicate and refined, and though he would never admit it aloud he did, at times, enjoy the odd fish and chips from the corner shop near his flat), but he wasn’t as interested in food as Aziraphale. But he liked to watch the angel cook, humming as he gently stirred eggs over a low flame on the stove. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, making the demon perk up. “Can you start cutting the tomatoes?” 

“Right, yeah.” Crowley stood, stretching his arms. He picked up a small knife from the counter and began sawing through one of the plump, perfectly red tomatoes. 

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?” 

“Not like that.” 

“Oh.” Crowley looked up, knife still in hand, tomato pulp covering the counter and several chunks of smushed tomato littering the cutting board like victims of a brutal crime. 

“Let me show you.” Aziraphale slid the eggs from the pan onto a plate, setting it down on the kitchen table he nodded at the tomato and it was suddenly perfectly whole and lovely again (although Crowley thought it looked frightened, it remembered the last tragic end). And then Aziraphale’s soft hands were on his own, and he was pressed against Aziraphale, and the angel was placing a much larger, much sharper knife in his hands. “See, dear, you don’t want to have to press down, this way you get clean, perfectly round slices.” 

“Ah,” Crowley breathed. “Yes.” 

“Lovely, carry on then.” Aziraphale was gone and Crowley stood stock still, frozen for a moment. He glared at the tomato warily and hissed at it under his breath until the cutting board was covered with perfect slices of tomato. 

Aziraphale was setting down a plate in front of him, a large, crisp piece of toast topped with several lush looking tomato slices and several spoonfuls of soft, creamy scrambled eggs. 

“Well?” The angel beamed, sitting down next to him and eagerly waiting for a reaction. “Go on, do tell me how you like it.” 

Crowley picked up the toast, taking as large a bite as was inhumanly possible, it was very good, he had to admit that. Crunchy and perfect. “S’nice.”. 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale cut a small piece off of his toast with his fork and knife, placing it delicately in his mouth. Smiling with his eyes half closed, “delightful.” 

“Angel?” Crowley called from the foyer of the bookshop, he was messing with his hair in the reflection provided by the window, he couldn’t help it that the front of the store had the best light. “I’m going out to my flat, dinner later?” 

“Crowley, why on earth are you shouting?” Aziraphale’s head popped up behind a stack of books just a short bit away, the small reading glasses he liked to wear perched crookedly on his nose and a feather duster in his right hand. 

“Ngk!” Crowley stumbled back, hissing. “Fuck, Aziraphale!”

“Sorry, dear.” Aziraphale smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Dinner sounds lovely, your place? Mine? The Ritz?” 

“Surprise me.” Crowley pulled his dark glasses from a jacket pocket and put them on. “Bye, angel.” 

“Wait!” Aziraphale hurried over, putting himself in between the demon and the glass door of the shop. 

“Yeah?” Crowley was already pulling his keys out of the inside pocket of his jacket, only half looking at the angel, so he was taken aback when he was pulled into a sudden kiss. 

“Kiss for the road, dear.” Aziraphale beamed, turning back to his shop as Crowley’s face slowly reddened. 

“Right, yes, toodle-oo then.” He stumbled out of the bookshop, and hardly remembered to wave away the parking ticket on the Bentley’s windshield before burying his face in his hands. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the funky formatting, for some reason ao3 won't give me the option to post/edit in rich text format, only html (which I am rubbish at). I'm plodding along with this story though! I love seeing all of the feedback and comments, it brings me a smile! I do take requests, so if you like my writing and want to see/read something specific please leave a comment or let me know!
> 
> (edit: I was able to fix the formatting)


	5. Wining and Dining (and other nighttime activities)

The phone was ringing. Probably some trench coat wearing tall chap trying to convince him to sell the shop, Aziraphale mused. It’s a little known fact that Alexander Graham Bell, the man who invented the modern day telephone, wanted the standard greeting to be “Ahoy!”. He was thwarted by none other than Thomas Edison (the master thwarter) whose of the greeting “hello?” became much more popular. Aziraphale, who was, is, and will continue to be, slow to catch on to modern trends and language, prefers a less used phrase. Resigned, sighing, and straightening his bowtie, Aziraphale picked up the phone, repeating his favorite phrase of salutations.

“We’re closed.” Aziraphale said, with as much boredom, frostiness, and plain British annoyance at having a perfectly empty day at the shop interrupted by a customer as he could muster. 

“Angel, it’s me.”

“Oh! Crowley! My pardon, dear.” Aziraphale relaxed, smiling in a way that would have made anyone watching through the window wonder what on earth could have been said to conjure such a brilliant smile. 

“I changed my mind about dinner.” 

“Oh? Oh. Alright, well, I’m sorry if I was too forward or too presumptuous-” The smile fell. Aziraphale, devastated, went back to his British annoyance customer voice, but with a lot more Angelic apology. 

“No! No, I meant I changed my mind, I’ll take care of it.” 

“Take care of it?” 

“I want to cook for you, ‘ssa surprise.”

“Oh! That’s lovely, your place then?” The smile returned. A block away, a man working at a flower stand gave a flower to the pretty barista who worked next door, another woman decided that today was the day she would apply for university, and a young girl realized that having a baby brother would be quite fun once he was old enough to play knights and princesses (she needed a princess to rescue after all). 

“Yeah, that alright?” 

“Tickety-boo, 8?”

“See you at 8, angel.” 

“Yes, my dear.”

“Ciao.”

“Toodle-oo!” Aziraphale hung up the phone. Across all of London, a thousand people fell a little bit more in love, another thousand decided to ring up a loved one to tell them they were loved, and one demon smirked devilishly to himself as he sped through traffic towards the nearest supermarket, tangling up phone lines as soon as his call was over. 

Crowley could have miracled the food into existence. But there were two problems with that, one being that he knew Aziraphale would be able to tell ( _ it tastes a bit sulphuric, dear _ ), and two being that he wanted to put an effort into tonight without looking like he gave any effort at all. After an ill fated trip to the grocery store that ended with a feud between himself and the self checkout machine that didn’t understand what a bloody barcode was, Crowley had decided to instead pick up things from different establishments he knew that the angel would enjoy. 

Carefully, painstakingly, and artfully arranged so as to look both painfully perfect and artfully unstaged, Crowley had set up the takeaway on the kitchen island along with two wine glasses and a subsequent two bottles of wine (chateau something or other, it was red and expensive and champagne, Aziraphale knew as much about wine as Crowley pretended to know about wine, it was Crowley who invented sommeliers and all of their pointless flavor notes that don’t make sense, after all). 

There was a knock at the door. Crowley gave one last glare to the houseplants that covered most available surfaces, took off his glasses, and called out, “Come in, angel, it’s open.” 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s timid voice came from the entryway, he was looking around curious and clearly wracked with nerves. 

“Kitchen. Turn left.” 

“Hello, dear.” Aziraphale gave him a brilliant smile as the angel stepped into the kitchen, well, it was hard to tell where the kitchen began with the open floor plan and seeming lack of most walls where walls would usually be (aside from the obvious, that is). “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought along a bottle of wine, the same kind from Paris, remember? And then as I walked over I couldn’t help but stop by the most perfect flower stand, the young man there was so radiantly happy, I had to buy flowers, I’m not sure if you like flowers but,” and here Aziraphale pulled a small, slightly rumpled, bouquet from the sleeve of his jacket with a flourish and a bow, grinning like a schoolboy. “Ta-da! Flowers for the gentleman.” 

“Did you pull those out of your sleeve?” 

“Ah, my dear, a magician never reveals his secrets!” 

“Come here, angel.” Crowley grinned, pulling a vase out of nowhere for the flowers and setting it on the counter. Aziraphale set the flowers inside, beaming and brilliant. Crowley grabbed the lapels of his ever-present coat and pulled him into a dizzying kiss. 

“Oh, my, you like the flowers?” Aziraphale stammered, his hands resting on Crowley’s chest. 

“They’re from you, aren’t they? What’s not to like about that?” Crowley smirked, basking in the light and warmth and love radiating off of Aziraphale in great waves. 

“You old charmer.” Aziraphale kissed his cheek, earning an unintelligible sound of surprise from the demon. “What do you have planned, dear?” 

“Let’s see, wine? Champagne?” Crowley tried to regain his composure, turning his attention to the unopened bottles before them. 

“I won’t say no to champagne.” 

As Crowley popped the cork, pouring the cascading golden wine into two glasses, he watched the angel surveying the many plates and bowls and platters before them on the black marble of the counter. 

“Oysters, asparagus, apples, cheese, figs and honey, chocolate tart, chocolate covered strawberries, pomegranate, salmon en croute, caviar, bucatini with, are those truffles?” Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Crowley, are you trying to seduce me?” 

“I don’t know what you mean, angel?” Crowley took a sip of wine, shrugging. “You like oysters.” 

“Yes but- oh, you wily serpent!” Aziraphale was blushing, he took a nervous gulp of wine, nearly spilling it down his front in his haste. “These are all, well, they’re…” 

“Foods you like? Splendid? Delicacies? Romantic?” Crowley leaned against the counter, his chin in his hand as he watched the angel sputter and blush. 

“Aphrodisiacs!” 

“Angel! You don’t think it’s romantic?” Crowley hissed sotto voce, trying (and failing) to look demure and innocent. 

“Well, I, well,” Aziraphale grabbed an oyster, swallowing it like a seasoned professional and setting the empty half shell down just a little too forcefully on the counter. “I suppose it is.” He muttered, face pink. 

“Mmmm.” Crowley hummed, picking up a chocolate dipped berry and took a slow bite. “Tell me about your day, angel.”

“My what?” Aziraphale met his eyes, flustered enough to drop the fig he had been holding. 

“Your day? How was it?” Crowley took another slow bite of the strawberry, licking a stray bit of juice off his bottom lip. 

“Jolly good, yes.” 

“Angel?” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“You seem distracted.” Crowley picked up a fig, popping it into his mouth. He slowly licked the honey off his fingers, watching Aziraphale who seemed transfixed, mouth slightly open. 

“I’m always distracted around you, my dear.” Aziraphale downed the rest of his champagne. He shrugged off his coat, leaving it hanging on a coat rack that Crowley did not own. 

They ate together for some time, Crowley doing his best to be as seductive, distracting, and feign as much innocence as possible. The two bottles of wine were soon gone. The distance between the two of them was soon gone as well, gradually one or the other kept inching their way closer and closer until they were side by side, Aziraphale leaning against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“His face was so red! The poor dear boy, he was so embarrassed I have a feeling he won’t be able to look at either of us again.” Aziraphale laughed, his eyes bright with wine in the candlelight he couldn’t remember being there before. 

“What was it he said again?” Crowley smirked, running a hand absently through Aziraphale’s curls. 

“License my roving hands, and let them go, before, behind, between, above, below.” Aziraphale quoted dreamily, swirling the last mouthful of dark red wine around his glass. 

“No he didn’t.” Crowley hissed in the angel’s ear, running a finger down the soft skin of his neck. “But I do give you license. But tell me what you said to me last night.” 

“Crowley, I- it’s embarrassing. I don’t regret last night, but I was tipsy and you know I’m not usually so, well,  _ crude _ .” 

“It’s alright, angel, you don’t have to. Not until you want to, okay?” Crowley kissed his temple. 

“No, no, I want to! I, oh dear.” Aziraphale swallowed, tugging at his bowtie and growing pinked by the minute. 

“What do you want to do, angel?” Crowley whispered, low and velvet, lifting up Aziraphale’s chin with a gentle hand. “Anything you want. You just have to say it.” 

“Crowley, dear, would you- could we..? Make- no, um, forni- no, wait, Crowley. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it, so please, I’m yielding to you. I want to-shall we, as they say, fuck?” His cheeks were pink but Aziraphale’s mouth was turned into a smile as he met Crowley’s eyes. 

“And, you do want to?” Crowley furrowed his brow, moving the hand that had been under the angel’s chin to cup his cheek, searching his partner’s eyes for any regret, anything that would make Crowley immediately step back, apologizing. 

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled devilishly. “At this point in the evening, I’m fairly certain I need to. You’ve been driving me up the proverbial wall.” And Aziraphale was kissing him, and Crowley couldn’t remember a time he had been happier, a time he had felt more sure of his place in this whole ineffable mess of Grand Scheme of Things set by the Almighty. 

“Come along then.” Aziraphale was pulling on Crowley’s hand, the demon still standing half dazed leaning against the counter, his eyes starry and his face softer and giddier than he had been in decades. 

“Bedroom?” Crowley murmured hoarsely, allowing himself to be pulled. 

“Bedroom.” Aziraphale confirmed, smiling brilliant and lovely, just for Crowley, who fell just a little bit more in that moment. 

Having sex with the angel, with  _ his  _ angel, was infinitely better than (albeit a very, very good) handjob, but skin on skin, clothes having been shed onto the floor (or folded neatly in Aziraphale’s case), sex couldn’t be described as anything short of damningly sinful and heavenly all at once. 

And the one thing that both parties agreed was almost, perhaps, maybe even better than the former was the whole being able to hold each other after bit of it. Although Crowley would never admit it out loud, he loved the feeling of angelic warmth and radiance next to him in bed. Knowing that he wasn’t alone. 

Aziraphale loved the love that permeated the room after their rigorous, wonderful, sex. As an angel, he loved and basked in any kind of love he could. And this, laying here with his head on Crowley’s chest and their legs tangled with blankets, Aziraphale felt intimate, delicious love. He had never been sure if Crowley, being a fallen angel, could feel the presence of love, he had never been sure if it would be rude to ask. 

“Angel?” Crowley said, stroking soft circles onto Aziraphale’s bare shoulders. 

“Hmm?” 

“You do know that this isn’t, this isn’t just a one, two night stand, right?” 

“I know, dear. I love you.” 

“You, what?” Crowley stopped, turning onto his side to better see the angel’s face. 

“I love you, I’m in love with you, you’re the object of my affection.” Aziraphale smiled, pulling the blankets up further. 

“Oh, I, um, I feel the same.” Crowley half smiled, a stupid, puppy dog look on his face. 

“I know, dear. I can feel it.” 

“Right, forgot about that angelic talent.”

“Tell me about my other angelic talents?” Aziraphale practically bat his eyes. “Hm?” 

“How about I snog you for a bit instead?” Crowley smirked, pulling Aziraphale onto his lap and kissing him, arms slung around his neck. And the Almighty, somewhere, sighed to herself.  _ Finally with those two _ , she grumbled making herself a long earned cup of herbal tea spiked with another long earned bit of sherry.  _ Bless me it did take them a long while. Quite the headache, if I do say so myself.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all of you lovely readers! 
> 
> Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think, what you want to see next if you enjoyed this, and any other comments, questions, suggestions, and the like, they always make my day brighter! But really, if you have anything specific you'd like to see a certain angel and demon do, please let me know, I'm always on the hunt for inspiration. 
> 
> X, 
> 
> The Nokken


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